Black Velvet
Kung Jin had no idea how he ended up in the bar that night.
Personally, the young Shaolin monk blamed it on Cassie Cage for introducing him to the establishment in the first place. The blonde-haired sergeant had dragged him, Takeda and Jacqui to that place a week after her father put together their team, and it was the first place where she had dragged them (again), along with their friends and mentors, to celebrate their victory over Shinnok. In both instances, it seemed that all had forgotten the fact that Jin was prohibited by his order to consume alcohol. Still, everyone was too ripped to the giddy tits at that point to notice him stealing a sip of red rice wine from a clearly inebriated Johnny Cage's glass and a generous mouthful of beer from Jax Briggs's cup.
It's not like I hadn't tasted alcohol before. Dad still won't forgive me for stealing that bottle of vermouth from his liquor cabinet years ago. I didn't even finish it, it tasted helluva awful, so I don't know why he was mad – then again, he wasn't impressed when he found out that I threw half the stuff down the bathroom sink.
In all honesty, Jin did not think much of the joint in which he was now sitting for the third time. With its drab brown décor, the dark maroon-coloured walls, the various bottles of liquor stacked almost higgledy-piggledy on the high brown shelf behind the rough, wood-topped counter over which he was leaning, the old-fashioned yet garish jukebox sitting in the corner by the door, the poor lighting, and the red-faced punters who eyed the Shaolin monk with suspicion, it was not exactly much of a wholesome bar. If anything, it reminded him of one of those Western saloons so often fictionalised in movies and books.
It's like that saloon in Johnny Cage's movie, "Brokenose Mountain" – ugh, why did Cassie have to make me watch that junk? Jin thought with a grimace. A stupid-ass movie with a stupid-ass cliché saloon.
So then, how did I end up back here in this stupid-ass dump?
This is the kind of joint I'd expect to find –
Jin growled under his breath, stopping his thoughts in time.
Don't even think about him …
Emitting a furious sigh, and trying his best to ignore the slight burning sensation in his cheeks, he took a large gulp of his lime soda. Jin was aware that he was drawing more attention from the aforementioned punters. Granted, he was dressed in civilian clothing, but he, a young man of Asian descent who sat alone amongst the other patrons with a non-alcoholic beverage in his hands, hardly looked inconspicuous.
Ignore 'em, a voice intoned in his mind. Just drink up and get the hell outta here, Jin. You shouldn't have come here in the first place. Who, or what, did you expect to find? Nothing.
Certainly not him – damn it, Jin, stop it!
The Shaolin monk wanted to pull on his ponytail out of frustration. Instead, he took another gulp of his soda, which somewhat quelled his nerves, although he gave himself a fright when he slammed his glass down on the counter in a violent manner. The bar-flies gave him an odd look; even the bartender glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes with suspicion. Luckily for Jin, however, they continued to go on drinking and serving customers, respectively.
You nearly blew it, the voice said-cum-lectured sternly. Just be grateful that no one's gonna cause you any trouble.
If the Elder Gods had happened to hear that, they probably would have laughed themselves silly at the trouble that was about to come in about five seconds.
Jin barely registered the door opening, keeping his eyes on his glass. It was only when he heard the ominous cling-cling! of spurs sliding over the wooden floor and the loud, collective gasp from the patrons that he looked up …
… and saw him.
Oh, hell no …
Dark-blue eyes appraised the bar and its inhabitants under a wide-brimmed hat. Its owner's hands rested on his hips – or more accurately, atop two dirty-gold revolvers in holsters strapped to his thighs. Sandy-brown hair framed a tanned face, which beheld what could best be described as an unimpressed expression, although it was hard to tell because of the mask covering the lower-half of his countenance.
"Hardly the warm welcome I expected from my own kindred," the stranger drawled in a low baritone.
Jin wanted to slap himself.
Of all the drinking joints in all of Earthrealm, Erron Black walks into mine!
No one uttered a word; they were simply too frightened at the appearance of the gun-slinging man who could have been a character from any Wild West movie. They gulped when he unholstered one of his revolvers and aimed it straight at them.
"If you're not even gonna dignify me with a response, then I suggest you beat it," he said in a low, menacing tone, "before I waste my time shooting holes in your worthless heads with my bullets."
Jin watched as Erron then pointed the gun at the shaking bartender. "You're staying right here, barkeep. I've come a damn long way for a drink and some intelligent company, but just the drink will do fine. You hear me?"
"I – I –" the bartender stuttered, beginning to sweat.
"I said, you hear me?" Erron repeated, cocking the gun and aiming the barrel at the other man's forehead.
"Y-y-yes s-suh-sir," the bartender managed, feeling as if his knees were about to give way, he was so scared.
"Good," the former Earthrealmer murmured before turning his attention – and his revolver – back to the other patrons. "What are you waiting for, a free round? Get out of my sight. Now."
They did not need to be told twice. This man was not fooling around – they could see that he meant business. Everyone scuttled over each other to reach the door and escape, lest the man pumped bullets into their retreating backs.
Jin was among the last of the crowd who was fighting their way out. The Shaolin in him made him want to remain behind and fight the Outworld cowboy: indeed, he wanted to reach into his pocket for his chakram – his only weapon – and engage the other man in Kombat. But the rest of him wanted to be far away from Erron Black as much as possible.
I can't let him see me.
Unfortunately, Jin had been seated on the far end of the counter, practically on the other side of the room, hence why he was among the last punters trying to hot-foot it. The people pressed against him as they ran, slowing him down in his efforts to leave. He pushed back, but not too forcefully that would cause them to fall.
After all, the open door was in sight …
I'm nearly out!
"Argh!"
… but he did not make it.
Instead, Kung Jin found himself lying face-down after tripping over an extended, booted leg.
Dazed ever-so-slightly, the Shaolin monk hardly had time to get his bearings when a hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and roughly turned him over onto his back, the back of his head bouncing hard against the wooden surface. Trying to bite back a groan as a small wave of pain erupted throughout his skull, Jin looked up, his eyes fluttering.
To his horror, dark-blue eyes stared down into own orbs.
"Well, well, Mr Kung," Erron Black rumbled, and Jin could swear that the gun-slinger was smiling behind that mask. "This is a remarkable coincidence. I almost didn't recognise you – I would've shot you if I was wrong, and would've shot you twice already if I was right. Fortunately for you, kid, I could do with some company."
And then, with surprising gentleness, Erron wrapped his powerful arms – tanned from his years traipsing around under the Outworld sun – around Jin's waist, lifting the groggy Shaolin monk up onto his feet.
"Let … go …" the younger man breathed, trying to force his way out of the cowboy's hold, albeit weakly.
Erron did not seem to be listening, but his grip loosened somewhat as he turned back to look at the bartender, who was sweating profusely now.
"Give me a Half and Half," he drawled slowly. "Easy on the pale, and strong on the dark."
He turned back to Jin, lifting the younger man's chin with his trigger-happy fingers. "What about you, kid? Having the same? Or would you prefer something else …?"
The last sentence was a hot whisper against his skin, and it made Jin feel faint at the knees. His heart thudded away at a fast pace in his chest as his eyes met that of Erron's once again.
"Well?" the former Earthrealmer muttered.
For all the answers that he could have given him, Jin could have kicked himself after finally answering:
"I don't drink alcohol."
Erron Black lifted an amused eyebrow.
"Odd, considering that I found you here."
"I don't drink at all, certainly not with the likes of you," Jin said firmly now, breaking free of Erron's hold. Taking a step backwards, he reached into his pocket, feeling around for his chakram.
But his confidence fled as soon as it had come when he found that his pocket was empty.
A sliver of raw fear made itself known when Jin saw Erron taking a step forward as he raised his right hand, holding his chakram between his fingers.
"I suppose I will have to convert you," the gun-slinger murmured.
